His Final Chance
by MSCSIFANGSR
Summary: And now for something completely different...GSR This story is REPOSTED.


**NOTE from MSCSIFANGSR:** I received this story last July as a birthday present from my husband, Jack. He wrote the story and then had my friend Jellybeanchi_chi look it over and beta it. He then posted on this site and for some reason only known to him, he decided to take the story down. He is quite **belligerent **at times and tends to not think his actions through. After a month or so, I talked him into allowing the story to be posted on GSRFO by one of the moderators. That site has now shut down and again I had to talk him into letting me post this story. With my husband's humble permission, I now** **REPOST** **this story here**.**

**And now for something completely different...**

**HIS FINAL CHANCE**

**24 July 2025**

Gilbert Grissom woke up alone, as he always had, in his hermetically sealed condo several weeks before his 69th birthday.

He looked around his bedroom through blurry eyes, noting his spartan furnishings, almost priest-like, in a strange, monastic sort of way; when his gaze landed on a framed photograph on his bedside table. The picture was of his team from when he had been the supervisor of the night shift of crime scene investigators for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes for a moment, wiping the crustiness out of his line of vision, before settling again on the old photograph. He studied each member of his team individually and as a whole and smiled as memories from their time together flooded his mind.

Catherine Willows, she looked so young, but then so did all the others in the photograph, but Catherine had always looked good for her age. These days, Catherine would not even return his phone calls. Not that he called her that often, but getting through to her was rather difficult. She headed Braun Casino Empire in which she had invented a new trend in Vegas: smaller more intimate casinos, without hotels, where many of the displaced workers from the latest recession now made higher wages and had increased benefits.

Catherine had married several times; the first to the cocky lawyer, Adam Novak, then to the man who turned out to be the love of her life, Ian Davenport. Grissom was proud of his friend and he often saw her on television being interviewed or honored for one reason or another. Catherine's daughter Lindsey had grown up, gone to college and become a lawyer and was currently the junior Senator from Nevada. Her political aspirations were high and her ambitions were limitless.

Another member of his crew that he saw frequently on television was the former lab rat turned investigator, Greg Sanders. In the picture, Greg's blond locks were unruly and spiky. Now when Grissom saw him on the nightly "View on Vegas," his hair was always perfectly coiffed. Greg had also married, to a woman who had been a former cocktail waitress and the two had four children.

His eyes floated over to Nick Stokes, and felt a bit of shame. He had not talked to his former employee in several years. Nick suffered a stroke on his 4oth birthday that left him in pretty bad shape. Confined to a wheelchair and unable to move his left side, he could only speak short phrases secondary to his severely slurred speech. His family had come to the hospital and made arrangements for the native born Texan to return to his home state to allow them to care for him in his time of need. Grissom hadn't spoke to him since that time.

Grissom took a deep breath because it hurt, even after all the time that had passed to see Warrick Brown's smiling face. Grissom was still consumed with grief over the death of "his favorite CSI" at the hand of the former undersheriff of Clarke County. Grissom closed his eyes in pain as he thought of the blood-soaked Warrick dying in his arms. It was still one of his worst nightmares.

He thought for a moment of his friend Jim Brass who had not in the picture. Jim was not unavailable the day the photo was taken because he had been out at Lake Mead fishing with the man who would become mayor of Las Vegas. Several years passed, when his friend Jim Brass died in the line of duty when a crack addict had held several hostages and the police at bay for several hours for reasons unknown. The crack head fired the fatal head shot at Brass with a stolen .22 linked with seventeen convenience store robberies. Jim was dead on impact. Grissom remembered the crime scene as he and another CSI investigated the shooting. He also recalled another shaky eulogy he had given at Jim's funeral.

He took a deep breath to settle his emotions. He did not want to look at the other two people in the photograph. One was himself, although he doubted he even knew that man anymore, and the beautiful brunette who stood beside him then was now across the country, living another life.

While he had continued to soldier on with the Crime Lab until he retired last year to a hefty 401K retirement fund, his post-retirement plans for writing an entomological text book never quite took off the ground. He had done nothing in the past year. Life merely slowly passed around him.

While still at the lab, and unbeknownst to Grissom, Sara had "gotten a diversion" from the harsh realities of their profession and earned her master's, and then her doctorate from both online courses and weekend course work at Harvard. When she suddenly resigned and left him and the lab to teach, he was saddened by life, but continued on in his unassuming manner solving crimes and not thinking about what he could have had if only he allowed her into his life.

_God, Sara_, he thought, _I loved you more than anyone in my whole life, but I never had the balls to do anything about it. I'm sorry_.

Grissom knew she taught theoretical physics at MIT, that she was married to her job, had few friends outside of work and that every Christmas since she had gone, she sent him a card signed "From Sara". That was their only contact.

He wanted to cry from the emotions he felt for all of these people, but he heard something scraping at his bedroom door and realized his dog, Hank the third, needed to go outside to pee. Before he rose from his full-sized bed, he ran his hand over his bushy beard and decided for the first time in months to shave.

His bare feet hit the hardwood floor as the dog burst into the room. The fifty-pound boxer knocked Grissom back down on the bed and covered the man's face with dog kisses.

"Okay, Hank, I'm up. Quit. Come on, let's go downstairs and let you out. Good boy." Well, Hank the third was a 'good boy' until Grissom realized the dog had shed some of his reddish hairs on his brown sheets. He grabbed the lint roller he kept on his bedside table for just these type emergencies and quickly and thoroughly removed the dog hair.

Then, Grissom and the dog padded down the stairs of his old townhouse. When they arrived in the living room, Grissom looked around and realized the room had not changed in more than thirty years. The uncomfortable brown leather couch was still uncomfortable and the stereo system that had been state of the art at one time was now an antiquated piece of shit.

The window fan still functioned, but only on its own terms. The concrete floor was uncovered and stained here and there from three generations of boxers in his house. It never to occurred to him to lay down carpet or even a rug, because one of the dogs surely would have had an accident on it.

His butterfly collection held decades of dust and some were lopsided on the wall, but the collection was still intact.

Grissom went to the sliding glass door and opened it to let the animal out. The dog quickly peed on a bush and then ran off to exercise a bit. Grissom knelt down and grabbed the large bag of 'Dog Chow' and poured the chow into the bowl and while he was at it, he filled the water bowl full with fresh water. Then Grissom went into the bathroom just off the kitchen and stood for an inordinate amount of time standing over the commode, trying to pee.

_Damn prostrate_, he thought. _I should get it looked at, but what difference would it really make, I don't use my penis for anything anymore, anyway. _

After he finally peed, he washed his hands and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He noticed that he looked every inch of the lonely hermit he was: the beard grew passed his chin, loose baggy boxers and a saggy midsection and man tits. He reached for the clippers and allowed all the excessive hairs to land unceremoniously into the sink, then he used the razor to shave the remaining hair from his face and patted his now clean-shaven face with a skin bracer.

He smiled at the man in the mirror; he almost knew that man, except for the full head of white hair. _Maybe I should get my hair colored. _

He went back upstairs to shower and dress and then let his dog back inside. "Hank, I'll be back later, I have to run some errands. I'll get you a treat."

He ruffled the skin behind the dog's ears and then the dog jumped up onto the couch and curled up and ignored Grissom as he left the townhouse.

The air outside was definitely different. He felt like a new man to a degree. He knew a change was coming, he just did not know in what form.

He took a deep breath of the summer air and made his way to his classic 1963 Mercedes 300 SL Roadster. It still purred like the fine German machine that it was and it was about the only source of pride left in his life. He "pimped" it out, so to speak, gaining the latest gadgets for navigation, communication, and entertainment.

Classic country music played softly in the background as he pulled the car into the main intersection, where he still found himself an hour later, stuck in traffic. He thought snidely to himself he would have gotten to the supercenter quicker if he walked, but he remembered the new law against pedestrians. No one could walk anywhere near a road or street or highway for safety reasons. Not one person had been struck by an automobile since the law had been passed, but obesity secondary to a sedentary lifestyle was the main health problem of the time.

He switched the music preference button to classical and a soft cello concerto soon filled the air inside the car. His mind was filled with itemizing his shopping list: a few groceries, fresh fruit and dog food, some personal hygiene products, including a 'Just for Men' hair color and a treat or two for the mutt at his house.

He reminisced about the canines in his life. Grissom had found the first Hank at a crime scene and taken the malnourished animal home with him. Hank had been a great companion and when one of the lab techs had mentioned having a female boxer who was in heat, Grissom offered the animal for stud services. The puppies had been a hit and Grissom received the first male puppy as payment of sorts. He had been christened the puppy "Hank Jr.," and over the years, the animals filled him with a sense of purpose that his insects and spiders never had.

Hank Sr. passed away about 10 years ago, and Grissom still missed him, and over time Hank Jr. too passed and now he had Hank the third. He was not entirely sure if he himself would be around long enough for there to be a fourth.

His mind was filled with images of the three animals as he slowly inched the car forward, when his attention was interrupted by an automated billboard. The bold words: "Made Mistakes in Your Life?" caught his eye. He was self cognizant enough to realize he had, and unconsciously he nodded his head affirmatively. "Go back in time and change things."

He laughed, _Go back in time, yeah right. _

"The Aetas Agency. Call now for a confidential consultation: 702-555-9761," the billboard urged.

He was a bit rusty in Latin, but after several moments of thought he recalled that _Aetas_ meant "time" in the now dead language. The traffic had not moved in several minutes as he watched the billboard for the sixth time in a row. He could not quite believe it himself, but he was starting to wonder if in fact he could go back in time and correct the worst mistake of his life. He knew if he had it all to do over again, he should have accepted Sara's offer of "something more." As it was, he was a confirmed hermit bachelor with no life at all. Anything was better than what he had now.

With a sense of impulsiveness he never knew existed within himself, he commanded the communication sensor to connect with Aetas. The woman on the other end of the sensor sounded and looked impossibly young with her blonde hair held back in a simple ponytail:

"Yes sir. For only 5,000 dollars, you can go back in time for five minutes and change whatever you want in your life. You may not murder someone or prevent the murder or death of someone, or place bets on sporting events such as the 1969 New York Mets or the 2010 New Orleans Saints to win significant monetary funds, but you are allowed five minutes of personal time to change whatever in your life.

"We do not make guarantees, although we have a 83.8 percent success rate as given by our customers after their experience. You are only allowed to go back once. If you were allowed more than one trip, then the paradoxical effect may been seen in other areas of our society. And that we cannot allow. We are authorized by the current system of government and accept only cash. Are you interested in this sir?"

"Five minutes, you say?"

"Yes, we will transport, teleport you so to speak, back to any five minute period in your life. You may do whatever you wish in that amount of time, but you are only given five minutes. In that time, you may just want to go back and see a loved one again, or perhaps change the outcome of any personal involvements you may have had. It is up to you entirely.

"Our success rate is given by satisfied customers, and any unsuccessful trip by a customer for whatever reason the customer may have is entirely at their own discretion. If it's a good trip back, then we succeed; if not, then we don't."

"Can you describe the process to me?"

"Dr. Grissom, I can see you are currently located on the 15 not far from our facility. Would you care to stop by and see the process for yourself. We have a customer who is scheduled for departure soon and you may witness his journey. And all your questions will be effectively answered, then."

Grissom drew a deep breath and decided to go for it. "Okay, I'll be there soon."

Ten minutes later the traffic eased off a bit, Grissom took the next exit and followed the signs to a large building that contained the offices of Aetas.

Tru, the young woman he spoke to on the communication device greeted him at the door. "Dr. Grissom, I presume? Welcome to the Aetas Agency." He nodded and smiled, leading her to continue. "Come this way, please."

Grissom was lead through the elaborate facility decorated in modern art to a small viewing room not unlike an interrogation room from his days with the LVMPD. He watched as a younger man, probably in his thirties, was placed in a reclining chair as a tech placed electrodes evenly spaced over his head, neck and chest.

"We monitor everything, in case there is a medical emergency while our client is on his journey," Tru answered before Grissom could even form the question. "We believe our responsibilities to our clients is our highest reward."

The tech inside the room was finishing with the young man asking if he were comfortable, then told him to relax for his journey would begin shortly. The young man took a deep breath and the tech flipped a switch. Grissom intently watched as the young man smiled for a moment, then every emotion known to man appeared across the young man's face, but his expression was mainly one of wonder, throughout the experience.

After the prescribed five minutes passed, the tech flipped the machine off and unhooked the client from the machine. Then the tech and the young man left the room together.

"What just happened?" Grissom asked.

"Our client went back in time for five minutes; did what he needed to do, then returned to us. Unharmed and safe."

"How will you know if it's a success for him or not?"

"Within 24 hours, his life will change. Not that we're promising for the better or the worse, but because of his actions or non-actions his life while he was on his journey, something will change in his life one way or the other. Tomorrow he is required by contract to contact our office and let us know if the journey was a success or unsuccessful."

"That's it?"

"Basically," Tru smiled and waited for Grissom's next question, she knew it was coming.

"May I schedule an appointment now?"

"Dr. Grissom, I'd like to be able to tell you that we have an opening this afternoon, that we could squeeze you into, but unfortunately that is not our policy. It is important for you, the client, to know exactly which five minute time frame in his life that he is traveling to. We wouldn't want you, the client, to make a rash decision and choose arbitrarily a period that would be effectively useless and your trip would become unsuccessful. Our company policy is to allow a twenty-one day waiting period before setting up an appointment for a journey. It is in our best interests to make you happy. Three weeks. If that sounds acceptable to you, then we can attempt to set up your appointment after the required waiting period."

Grissom contemplated everything he'd seen for several minutes as Tru waited with him.

Finally he asked, "Is it within the rules of this company to allow me to find out whether or not the young man who just left here, had a successful journey?"

"Good question, Dr. Grissom. Yes, I can contact you tomorrow, not on the specific details, but as to whether or not his journey was a success."

"I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow, Miss Tru."

Grissom left the complex and continued on his own personal journey to the supercenter to procure food stuffs for him and Hank the third. He went back home, put up his groceries, took the dog on his daily walk around the block. The next morning his communication device dinged and the image of Tru filled the screen. "Dr. Grissom, I am here to report the gentleman from yesterday, just called in to say 'thank you very much' and that his trip was a complete success. Hopefully, Dr. Grissom when you decide the right time to make the journey, we'll be able to provide the means and thank you for your interest in Aetas."

In the intervening weeks, Grissom worked like a madman investigating the Aetas Agency. He discovered the usual facts from internet searches to several client testimonals and even some bits of information that wasn't commonly known to the public. From the company's inception in the 1990s spurred on by an idea from Stephen Hawkins to actual case files of two deaths that occurred while customers had time traveled, both seemed to have suffered from uncontrolled hypertension and with the journey, their hearts became too stressed and literally gave out; Grissom found out everything. He found no hints of improprieties at all.

Then he decided to call in a few favors from current members of the police force to find out more about the creator of the Agency, a one Anthony Zuiker, born in Illinois in 1968, from his private life to his public life, nothing was too sacred for Grissom, he had to know everything about the company and the man who built the business before he felt safe with his decision. He also thought to run a background check on Tru, but found nothing of interest, other than one ticket for littering when she was a teenager.

He thought briefly of contacting Sara for any information she may or may not have on the company, but decided it was in his best interests to leave that option alone. When his investigation was complete and he felt satisfied with his results, Grissom called to make an appointment. He spoke again to Tru, and she set the appointment for a Sunday afternoon, August 17th.

Finally, Grissom allowed himself to agonize over finding the perfect moment in which to return. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the leggy brunette with her beautiful gap toothed smile. He plotted out a perfect plan of what to say and what to do in his five minute time frame, he just had to find the perfect moment. There were so many opportunities he never took.

Life went on as usual: he fed and walked Hank the third, even tried to call Catherine, but decided this was something he needed to do for himself without her intervention. He bathed and shaved every day, beginning to enjoy the sight of his own clean shaven face as compared to his former bearded one. He even started working out on his old Nordic-Track elliptical machine that he'd once bought in hopes of losing a bit of weight. It had worked for the short term, but then he'd let it collect dust in his spare bedroom which also housed his ever expanding collection of ants, beetles and roaches.

He even got around to coloring his hair his natural shade of brown with some gray highlights. He looked better than he had in years. But mainly he contemplated his situation. In the final few hours before his appointment, it finally occurred to him the perfect five minute time frame for him to journey to the past and hopefully, become a better man because of it.

"Good day, Dr. Grissom," Tru again greeted at the entrance of the facility. "I trust that you know exactly where and when your journey will take place.." Grissom nodded affirmatively. "Good, then. Let me show you to the transition room."

When they arrived at a small room similar to the one he'd seen the young man travel the previous week, Grissom was asked to relax and envision the precise time he wished to return to. Tru then began placing electrodes over his head, neck and chest, then checked his vital signs: "120/80 with a heart rate of 75. You are in pretty good shape for a man of your age." Grissom blushed. "Are you ready, sir?"

"Yes."

Tru flipped the switch. Grissom felt a weird type energy flow through his body, then felt his face contort a bit and then suddenly:

**19 May 2005**

He was behind the wheel of a 2005 black GMC Yukon XL Denali, with 4 wheel drive, a GMT 800 platform and a monster V8 engine driving in light traffic in the dusk of the evening. It felt great to be driving the huge SUV again, because V8 engines had been outlawed in his time because of poor fuel consumption. He hazarded a look to his right and found Sara Sidle sitting in the bucket seat beside him. She was silent, but tears were streaming down her face. She was looking dead ahead through the windshield, but he could tell she was not taking in the sights of Las Vegas, but was lost in thought.

All his carefully laid plans went for naught. She still took his breath away.

He smiled, in spite of the situation; Sara was beautiful. They had just saved Nick Stokes from the plexi-glass coffin, covered in fire ants only an hour or so before and both their nerves were shot. The Sirrus satellite radio was on and was preset to a contemporary country music channel. One song was ending and another country song began to play: _Had a nice little life; A little boat, a little beach; A little routine I liked…_

Sara's hand shot out of nowhere to change the station, but this time his hand was faster and he captured her hand in his before her fingers touched the knob.

"Don't," he commanded.

Sara looked hurt for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, "Whatever." She turned away from him, but his hand still had hers captured. "Let my hand go."

"No."

"Grissom, I don't know what's come over you, but I just want to get to the hospital to see Nick."

He squeezed her hand in sympathy. "He'll survive this, I can promise you that, Sara."

"It's just that it coulda been any of us, even you ...or me, for that matter. I can't even think clearly right now." She jerked her hand away from his and then crossed her arms over her chest.

He could see the tears still trickling down her face and it was all he could do to not pull over and take her into his arms.

_You can't have it all by yourself, Something's always missing till you share it with somebody else. There's a difference in living and living well. _George Strait continued to croon in the background.

Grissom knew his five minutes were rapidly depleting. He sang the words out loud with the song on the radio, while he looked at her profile. He was off key, but it didn't matter, he was running out of time: "_Sitting here with you girl I just saw the best one yet, There's a difference in living and living well. You can't have it all by yourself. Something's always missing till you shared with someone else. There's a difference in living and living well."_

"Sara, it's true. I'm living but I'm not living well. I want you in my life. We've both made mistakes along the way, but I'm ready to try if you'll allow me."

Sara sat slack-jawed for several moments before verbalizing her thoughts, "Why now, Griss? Is it because of Nick? Did it finally occur to you that life is too precious to let things slip away?"

"Just say, 'Yes.'"

Then without warning, Grissom was back in the little transition room with electrodes connected to a machine that made his journey possible. Tru removed the electrodes and then lead him out of the room.

"Dr. Grissom, I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow."

Grissom went home, fed the dog, and then slept the sleep of the dead, sleeping so soundly nothing could have awoken him.

**17 August 2025**

Gilbert Grissom awoke to the familiar warmth of a body spooned against his back.

He slowly opened one crusty eye to check out his surroundings. He wasn't in his townhouse for sure. The lighting was all wrong. He saw a curtain flowing in the wind from an open window and could make out the outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

Today was his 69th birthday and his wife stirred against him.

"Happy birthday and good morning, Gilbert."

"Good morning to you too, dear."

He rolled over and kissed his wife of twenty years. The 56 year old Sara Sidle-Grissom beside him now was grayer and more curvaceous than the younger Sara that he remembered so well, he loved both of them with an equal passion. When he felt the stirrings of desire, he smiled when he realized his prostrate was no longer a problem. Then the two of them made love like they were newlyweds.

He sighed in contentment when Sara slipped from their bed and went to take a shower.

Memories of their life together flitted through his brain: Costa Rica, Paris, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, for a time, and then Paris again. He was really living well. But he still had memories of his hermetically sealed life and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd done the right thing in calling the Aetas Agency. He quickly punched in the code on his communication pad and Tru's face filled the screen.

"Aww, Dr. Grissom, it's good to hear from you this morning. Was your journey a success?"

"Yes, I believe it was and thank you very much."

Grissom smiled and returned the pad to the bedside table. He lay contented, relaxed on the bed with one of his hands supporting his neck. About ten minutes later, Sara slipped back into comfortable king sized bed and they spent the better part of the morning enjoying the unique sexual aspects of the configuration of his age. Then they slept for a time, happily in the others arms.

After their pleasure filled morning, they leashed Hank the third and joined hands then walked to the nearest outdoor café. While there, they enjoyed croissants with a honey fruit salad and a pair of café au laits in the humid, abet beautiful autumn evening in Paris. Sweet kisses were exchanged throughout the evening as the 'old married couple' still only had eyes for each other.

And then the sound of an old country music song floated in the warm breeze and the Grissom's smiled at each other when they recognized the lyrics: _My days are brighter, my sky a deeper blue; My nights are sweeter when I'm with you. There's a difference in living, I thought I was living, but there's a difference in living and in living well. I'm living well._

**end**

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or its characters, nor do I own "Living and Living Well" by George Strait. however if I may be excused from the wrath of 'The Powers that Be', I say in my defense: I am using their creations for altruistic purposes, noting no monetary gain for myself; this story serves as a birthday present for my wife Chauncey known on this website as MSCSIFANGSR. Betad by Jellybeanchichi, who made it readable. Written 7-3-2010.


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